Imploring Hearts
by diet sugar
Summary: Sometimes, we think we know our destiny, that it has been mapped out for us. But sometimes that map has to be rewritten, and it will not always be so easy to follow to the treasure waiting at the end...


Running. Why did it always start out like this? He was running in a never-ending maze. Terror filled his eyes and the taste of blood was upon his tongue. His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to reach the interior before…

Darkness surrounded him, crushing him, pummeling at him. The wind sang to stop him, blowing in his face. He stumbled and fell, jarred painfully to his hands and knees. He coughed and crimson blood cascaded from his mouth and stained the earth. It swam around the boy and expanded before him. Shock embraced him as ruby blood filled the ground beneath his shaking body.

The boy stood, trembling. The blood soaked his sneakers and the hem of his robes. He looked around frantically. Ahead, he heard a shout. No… He ran forward. NO!

"Kill the spare."

No…

"Avada Kedavra!"

No!

The boy erupted into the core of the labyrinth and stopped abruptly: before him stood a boy older than he. He was handsome and tall. His eyes were blank and lifeless as they bored themselves into the younger boy's own emerald orbs. Both stood, silently watching the other until the elder opened his mouth. No words were uttered from his gray lips, but the wind whispered in the young one's ear, "…you killed me…"

"NO!" Harry sprung from his bed, landing painfully on the hard wood floor. What little material he had to cover himself with was tangled at his feet. His eyes rolled restlessly in their sockets as he whispered again and again, "…no, no, no, I didn't do it… Please… Cedric… forgive me."

"Why won't you leave me be?" Harry murmured brokenly, "Please… leave me be…"

Draco Malfoy was terrified. Yes, there were moments when he had been frightened, but the proud fact was that his seventeen-year long life he had never been truly terrified. Now, however, the feeling suddenly found it being challenged. There he sat, perched in a black, crush-velvet chair in his room, placed on the fourth floor of Malfoy Manor. A nearby fireplace cast shadows that danced around the stone-engulfed space. The flames that blazed inside it seemed to enjoy the tension that clouded the room as it licked the night air above. A golden glow polished itself onto Draco's bent body, which sent out a sparkle when the firelight clashed with the beads of sweat daring to run down the boy's pale cheeks. The distraught Slytherin held his head in his hands with his elbows propped against his black silken dressed knees. His callused fingertips occasionally had ground through his silvery tresses as he racked his brain for an answer to a question he had so foolishly over looked.

Flashback

The sound of glass shattering mingled with vicious shouting caused the blonde's eyelids to sharply contract. He lifted his head in order to heed the revolting argument and heard only his father's deep, spiteful tone. Deciding it was simply Lucius dealing with an incompetent Death Eater, Draco shrugged it off his conscience and rolled over between his silver satin sheets. His position was not held long; for the hoary-eyed student jerked into a sitting stance when his own mother's shrilly voice came reverberating down the corridors. The young wizard yanked the cloth from his body and, with haste, stood up revealing his bare sculpted chest and long midnight pants clothing the lower half of his body. Making so little noise a cat would hiss in envy, he left his bedside and cautiously exited through the immense oak door.

He followed the shouts, which were still too muffled by the numerous echoes bouncing off the walls at a time to make out what exactly was being argued. Down one flight of stairs, through a baker's dozen of corridors and galleries, and halfway across a suspended hallway overlooking an elaborate dining hall, Draco found the source of his awakening. As the now fifth-year student snuck over to the base of the railing and peering over the edge as the expansive room that lay two floors' length below him, the yelling ceased. The father stood with clenched fists on the far side of the extended table. Squinting down, he could make out shards of antique glass lying on the floor near Lucius. The former vase's usual location was atop an ancient dresser that sat against an adjacent wall. His mother had her hand resting on top of the chest, and was glaring as the man across from her.

Suddenly, the longhaired Death Eater's voice sliced through the short silence. The harsh violent manner made Draco shudder.

"He will receive the mark, Narcissa. Before he goes back to school."

At this, the blonde woman left her post near the antique chest and marched closer to her husband, her heels clicking on the buffed marble floor.

"I've told you! He will wait until he graduates. I do not want a mark on his arm to distract him from his schoolwork! He should be a man before he commits his life to servitude."

"Draco will be sixteen this December. In the eyes of the Dark Lord, he is man enough to serve. And it's about time that boy did something right."

Draco winced. Every year he tried to please his father. Crawled on his hands and knees just to make him happy, just about everything but kiss his damn feet. But in his father's eyes, coming up second in his class, and to a mudblood of all people, was simply unacceptable.

"I don't care. He's my son and I say he will wait!"

"I agree. He is your son. That brat has so many of your characteristics it's revolting."

The blonde woman scowled as her cheeks began to flush with rage. But before she could say anything, Lucius spoke again with a sneer.

"Draco will join us before he goes back to school, and if you value your pathetic life. You will not interfere." When he finished he cast one last menacing glower at the woman he married sixteen years ago before whirling around on his heel and calmly walking out of the room.

Draco lay still, watching in horror as his father left his mother alone. Lucius had never threatened Narcissa before, he wouldn't dare. Sure, other Death Eaters and even Draco a few times, but never his wife. The stunned Slytherin watched his mother clench her fists, grab another item off the old chest and pelt it into the side of the room. Then she turned and stalked out of the massive dining hall in the opposite direction of Lucius. And Draco was left there. Still paralyzed by what had just taken place. As little as he knew about her, he knew this: his mother was stubborn, but to risk her own life for another's? Even if it was her only son.

End of flashback

Flames flickered across the pale boy's face as he sat, immobile in the velvet chair. His hair was tousled where his fingers had been grinding into his skull. Now, he sat serene. His elbows placed upon the plush chair and his fingers laced together. His silver gaze was locked on the far sidewall but he didn't see it. Those looking at him would believe he were some statue that belonged in a museum. But no one saw him. No one bothered to disturb him while he sat in his room, thinking.

He had never been close to his mother. She always seemed so aloof from him. Some untouchable piece of jewelry his father liked to wear- a prize, really. Draco knew that was all Lucius thought about his mother. She was just something to be shown off in public. And Narcissa always went with it, always leaving her son's side to go to one of Lucius' 'dinner parties'. Why, now, start being protective and motherly for the sake of Draco? The boy's lip curled. He loved his mother, but he would not stand by and watch her go up against Lucius for him. What if he wanted to become a Death Eater before his fifth year started? He had always wanted to please Lucius and make him proud. Then Potter would see what it meant to have pureblood pride.

Draco growled and ran a hand through his hair again, making it stick up in odd places with the impression of Potter's own chaotic hair. Draco stood fast angrily, his lavish chair falling back, feeling the pale boy's suppressed rage. Potter. It always came back to Potter. Everything was about Potter. Everything. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He couldn't fly as fast as Potter. He's not as good a seeker like Potter. Because of Potter, Gryffindor had won the house cup for three years straight. Last year they didn't have the house championship because of… what happened.

What happened? Draco laughed hollowly. He still didn't even know what happened. All he knew was that Voldemort had come back and was stronger then ever. But when he heard word at the Third Task that Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were missing, Draco felt as through his heart has stopped. He remembered running towards Dumbledore, hoping he knew anything about Potter's disappearance and the agonizing relief when Potter appeared again with the Triwizard Cup in one hand and a dead body in the other.

Draco slowly walked to his window and glanced down at the Malfoy property. He really had no choice. He would do it to make his father proud, to save his mother's life. But most of all he would do it to protect Harry. Potter may hate him even more when he finds out. Draco didn't care. He came to the conclusion a long time ago that the raven-haired Gryffindor would never feel the same way about Draco as the blonde felt about him. And that is the way it stood.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am sorry to inform you that your request to stay with the Weasleys' for the remainder of the summer holidays has been denied. With the return of Lord Voldemort, I feel you are safer with your blood relatives. There are strong magics that protect you when you are within them. Enjoy the rest of your holidays. See you next term.

Sincerely,

Headmaster Dumbledore

P.S. Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday, indeed. Harry crumpled the letter in his hand furiously. Dumbledore thinks he's safer at Privet Drive then he is at the Burrow? He must be mad. Harry sighed and landed on his back on his miniscule bed. His mind raced with reasons as to why he should stay at the Weasleys'. He could have a proper birthday party for one. And he would be able to do his homework in broad daylight instead of having to wait until all of his God-forsaken relatives fell asleep. But Dumbledore had made a good point. Voldemort was at large, and the Dursley's house's wards nearing the strength and complexity of Hogwarts' own. Maybe it was better that he stayed at the Dursley's. At least then no one would find out about his dreams. While staying at his aunt and uncle's would be hell, he won't have to worry about waking Ron with his cries. Harry closed his eyes. Oh, how he wished he didn't dream…

It started out simple enough. Walking through clouds of mist. Walking. Walking without direction or purpose. The mysterious requirement to move forward fogged Harry's mind, mirroring his surroundings. A soft white noise filled the air, a hollow sort of cry. A familiar aura hung in the sky. He had visited this place before. When, he couldn't recall. Then, right then, the mellifluous hum changed. It turned to a faint yet tortured sob. On and on he walked through the depressing nothingness, the sound growing in volume with every step he took. The wails grew in desperation and misery and they echoed inside Harry's head and all around his being. Further and further he cantered, searching for the source of these heart retching weeps. Tears began to grace his lower lids in frustration and anguish. He wasn't going to fail again. He couldn't take it any more.

Faster… Closer… Then the current clashed. This is where the existing scene took a different path; breaking off from the road all the others refused to stray from. The cries grew deafening as the mist finally started to thin. Harry ran to the edge of the haze then stopped hastily. The creature producing the poignant howls was not Cedric. Sitting on the damp looking ground with its limbs pulled up next to its body and its head thrown back in torment was… a dragon. Not a large one. Sitting down, it came to the top of Harry's head. Silver scales adorned its back; dark green accented its eyelids and crimpled wings. Glass like tears fell from its face and shattered when they met the ground. Harry stepped slowly and cautiously towards the grieving animal; the unreasoned knowledge that only he could make things all better rush through him like a ripple in a still pond. He lifted his hand to touch the dragon's scaly cheek only to find it smooth and cool. Harry blinked again, his eyelids seeming to wipe away the dragon before him, revealing a human standing before him.

The Gryffindor's hand remained on the person's cheek and felt another delicate hand cover his own, holding it in place. They both smiled softly and stepped closer to one another. Completeness filled them both the closer and closer they moved towards each other. Like two puzzle pieces finally finding the perfect and totally right match. Soon they were standing as one, pressed against one another. They grasped each other's hands at either side of them and looked deeply into their partner's eyes. Harry could not tell who this person was, and didn't care. As he looked into this person's eyes, he saw storms. Lightening and thunder all collected into each of those perfect orbs. Slowly Harry clasped his lips to the ones across from him. Smooth cream wasps of clouds twirled their way around them like ribbons of a Christmas tree. They never parted from each other. Almost afraid that if they did they would lose this Utopia they were in and are shunted back into reality. Reality. There was no such thing right now. Their mouths moved in unison, sharing all of their being with the other. Harry had never felt like this. He didn't know what it was. Yet he had been craving it his entire life.

As long as he never left it, he would be happy. Gradually, their feet left the ground, and they were lifted up into the air. That or the ground had deteriorated from under their feet, Harry couldn't tell, nor did he even seem to notice. Melodies of passion and devotion came down from the heavens, calling them to it: wanting, yearning for something as beautiful and precise as its own. They continued to rise upwards, for how long neither of them could say. All of their attention was on the other. Their arms embraced one another at the kiss deepened, turning everything in each other's lives right, for the first time. So right, so perfect... Then Harry felt a jerk. His eyes shot open and met those of his lover's. Once stormy and helpless, they were now clear and bright. But those eyes began to pull away. Harry tried to race after them, but he couldn't move. He tried again, pulling so hard, but to no avail. He watched powerlessly as his love was forced out of his reach. The silken haze cracked and fell harshly to the ground. Harry soon followed. Down, down he dropped, towards the black and emptiness. Complete sorrow filled him, drowning him and agony. Farther and farther away from his want and need and love. Please no…

With a cutting jolt, Harry shot upright in his bed. Tears poured from his face as he buried his head in his sweating palms. His shoulders shook and twitched with each sob.

"No. Don't do this to me. Where'd you go?" He sounded over and over again, a mantra of despair, loss, and failure. The drowned feeling never left his body as he lay back down on his damp pillow and tried to cry himself to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Not until he had it back. He had to have it back.

"Come back…"

Dear Severus,

I know that these times will be hard for you more than others. But I do not wish to dwell on the problems you face. I am writing on behalf of Draco. As you probably already know, Lucius wishes to make Draco into a Death Eater before he enters the new school year. In the eyes of seemingly everyone, Draco is old enough to enter into the Dark Lords service. But he is just a child striving for a father's approval, but you…

I cannot say everything I wish to in letter. There is no trusting the post these days. Please, I implore you to come to the Manor and speak with Lucius. You are still his closest friend, Severus. Please make him wait until Draco goes willing, by his own choice. I also believe that in such a visit, it is near time Draco knew the truth. I cannot keep it from him any longer, furthermore if it aids in his choice to wait and make the choice for himself. Please come, Severus.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy

I glare at the offending parchment and crush it in my hand. So she thinks that I could be of some help, does she? Narcissa was living in a dream world if she still thinks I have power to sway Lucius' decision. Draco, though… Perhaps she is right on that note. Draco has had only Lucius to idolize, and look at what he has grown to be. I grimace. A carbon copy of a man I loathe; the supreme reverse of my hopes for him. I had expected him to turn out at least slightly decent with my influence in his younger years. A folly on my part, Draco idolizes Lucius, something I intend to rectify.

I grab my cloak from the peg it hung on and go to the fireplace. "It is near time Draco knew the truth." The words on the page repeating, shrilling over and over again in Narcissa's feminine voice, winding themselves in and out of my mind. The truth. What a tale. Many nights I have fantasized in my mind the tangled scenario. Oh, how I have had the desire just to come out and tell him during his school years. But in truth, I was happy him not knowing. That was the plan. Yet, I hoped he would never turn out as he did. Wishing he took his mother's lead, or had followed the direction in which I had tried to push him. Praying he had more sense and realization then to follow Lucius' tainted path. How could I have thought it would be simple? Back when this all began. 'No loose ends' was our goal. Oh, how far from it we have become. But now it doesn't matter. I have a duty to do. It clenches my heart to think of Draco being so blindly led into the Dark Lord's fist. I shutter to think of him going through anything I have been exposed to. And just to gain Lucius' approval. A void he has strived to hard to fill. But like I said, I have duty to do. My obligation to him has finally decided to surface. Yet, I suppose I don't see it as an obligation, for it is something I am now certain I'm willing to do. I grabbed a pouch of floo powder. Anything… for my son.


End file.
